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Entry tags:
Fic: BDS - Confession's Good for the Soul (Connor/Murphy)
Title: Confession's Good for the Soul
Fandom: Boondock Saints
Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Rating: NC-17
Word Count:
Warnings: Incest, PWPesque
Summary: Connor's wondering about his relationship with God. Murphy's already confessed to his sins.
A/N: It was![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ficlette's birthday yesterday and I'm continuing the week of love. Today's post brought to you by the letter 'b'. Self-beta'd.
Connor watches as Murphy comes out of the Confessional, eyes downcast and an indiscernible expression on his face. He knows that Murphy was confessing to their killing and he knows that the priest probably didn't believe that they have a calling. He also knows that Murphy will do his penance and then they will both continue on the path the Lord set for them.
They are the Shepherds of the Lord, setting a river forth for Him by culling the wicked from the good. They'd lost count of how many they'd sent to meet their Maker four months ago, when Il Duce had been killed in a trap that Smecker hadn't been able to warn them about. The Feds didn't know jackshit about their father other than his deeds. Their father was cremated like a common criminal and, even now, Connor and Murphy pray for his soul and that the Lord accepts one of his Shepherds back into the flock.
By the time Connor's done blocking the memory of their father's bullet riddled body from his mind, Murphy's kneeling next to him with his rosary out and fingers shifting from bead to bead while his lips are moving with the remembered verbiage of the prayers. It's Connor's turn to enter the Confessional but he decides that he's confessed before and it might have done some good but he's tired of confessing the same sins only to go out and perpetuate them again.
That's where he and his father differed. His father believed that there was no need to confess to the killing of the wicked. They had a calling and God was well aware of what they did in His name. Il Duce had gone to the Lord with a prayer of thanks on his lips while Connor knows that he would meet the Lord with a request for forgiveness on his lips. Il Duce had known, way back in that hotel room after they'd gone public, that Connor didn't have the commitment to the mission like he'd had.
Connor isn't able to go as far as necessary.
It doesn't bother Connor for the most part. He doesn't mind that he questions the veracity of the information they receive from their informants. He also doesn't mind that he questions, daily, if what they're doing is right. That doubt is what separates them from the people they kill, after all.
As Murphy finishes his prayers, Connor slips back onto the hard pew and stares at the large crucifix hanging behind the altar. His mind drifts from topic to topic – their latest target, their last kill, the drip of sweat from his nose as he thrusts into Murphy – while Murphy's head bends further forward and he continues muttering prayers. The topics aren't really fit for the church, especially when he's breaking commandment after cardinal rule after societal rule.
They're the only ones in the church and it's quiet. Before this past year, Connor would've used the word 'peaceful' but now he'll leave it at 'quiet' as he's not sure that he'll ever feel peace again. They've done too much, had too many souls haunting them to be peaceful.
Then there's the shift between Murphy and him. That first kiss had been a dare, a drunken slobbering affair that had left them with too many questions and just one answer – 'this is wrong'. They'd done their best to ignore the kiss, punching each other and avoiding looking when one or the other had been changing. Though, for Connor, it was more that he'd watched out of the corner of his eye. When he'd caught Murph doing the same, they'd met eyes and before Connor had time to think, they'd been kissing. The slide down that slippery slope into more had been all too easy from there.
The shift between them might be sending them to Hell but Connor's prepared his arguments for the other side. Until then, he'll think of it as a gift of peace in the midst of all the killing and the chaos. They deserve it, dammit, they deserve the feel of hands touching bodies and lips pressing against lips.
Murphy mutters 'amen' and then he looks at Connor. Connor thinks that he might just be able to tell what Connor's thinking about because a grin flits across his face and Connor's only ever seen it right before Murphy had wrapped lips around cock. It's as Murphy's raising an eyebrow and opening his mouth to say something blasphemous that the priest leaves the Confessional. Murphy looks from the Confessional to Connor to their crotches before looking at the back to the Confessional. Connor knows what he's suggesting and he shakes his head. When Murphy repeats the looks, Connor mouths 'no'.
Connor's had his own crises of faith before. He's wondered if God hadn't been punishing their gall to be judge, jury and executioner by first killing Rocco and then their da. When he's brought it up in the past, Murph'd slapped him across the head and said, "don't be a fool, Conn, course not. We're doing what he told us, yeah?"
Murph's always had a better relationship with God. He's always been confident in God's ability to forgive. It's this reasoning that Connor uses to justify his acquiescence as Murphy looks again. Third time's the charm, especially considering that Murphy's palming his cock through his jeans as he does it.
Murphy leaves the pew, sliding away without another glance. He looks first one way and then the other before slipping into the Confessional. Connor waits, counting to thirty before crossing himself and then counting to thirty again. One more time crossing himself and then he's out of the pew and heading towards the Confessional. He doesn't look around.
Instead, he slips in and before he can absorb how close, how narrow, how small the room is with two of them in there, Murphy is pressing against him, all lips and teeth and roving hands. It's not a kiss between them, at least, Connor wouldn't use that term. It's a battle for domination as their teeth collide with his lip stuck between them. The pinch only adds to the need and fuels the speed as their hands busy themselves with belts and trousers.
Before Murphy can rip his jeans off his hips, Connor slips one hand into a pocket, searching for the small packet of lube he'd grabbed off the dresser that morning. He hadn't even thought about, it'd been automatic to grab everything off the dresser and slip it into his pocket. Cigarettes, lighter, sixty-eight cents and lube.
He's thankful for habit, especially as he's wanting to sink himself balls deep into Murphy, feel him clenching and hot around him while he's thrusting. His elbow bumps the cheap paneling of the wall while he digs out the lube. It only stands to reason that he'd hit that awkward spot and send jangles of pain along his arm. He curses, this time in German, and Murphy laughs before swallowing it down with his mouth pressed firmly over Connor's.
They're making so much noise that Connor's sure the priest is going to walk back in to his side of the Confessional at any point. Knowing Connor's luck lately, it'll be while he's buried in Murphy and fucking him against the wall. Then again, knowing the state of the Church, the priest might enjoy the show. The thought sets Connor to laughing again and, as Murphy's just gotten his hands on Connor's dick, it's piss poor timing. He figures that he deserves the bite to his tongue and doesn't get too upset about it.
With the lube pack firmly in hand, he finishes taking care of Murphy's jeans and pushes them down. Murph bends, hitting his head on the door while he unfastens a boot and shucks it and the leg of his jeans off. The sight might have had Connor laughing at any other point but Murphy's hands are on his dick again and Connor decides that the bite to the tongue is already more than enough punishment for laughing. Knowing Murphy, he'd bite Connor's dick or something for laughing while he's standing there with his cock thrusting up into the air.
Murphy holds out a hand and Connor squirts some of the lube into his palm before putting the rest into his own hand. The slippery smooth grip makes him buck into Murphy's palm. It's almost as good as Murphy's ass and Connor thinks that Murphy knows it. His fingers are rougher than he'd wanted when he thrusts them up into Murphy's ass. He doesn't really take his time, he's too afraid that the priest will be back considering how many times they've banged against the walls.
Murphy shifts so that he's on the small bench inside the room and then he's sliding down over Connor's cock. He'll deny it later but there's a small mewl coming from Connor's throat as he's engulfed. Pushing Murphy against the back wall – the only one that's sturdy enough to take the abuse that he's about to dispense – Connor picks up Murphy's legs and puts them around his waist.
Then, they're fucking. There's no other word for the rapid thrusting and groaning that they're doing. It's not just sex and it sure as fuck isn't making love. It's carnal and fast and hot. Connor's sure that they can hear the wet slap of flesh against flesh. When Murphy groans, Connor knows that they're about to get caught. There's no way that there isn't a single person in the church that can't hear them.
Lip turning purple and white around where teeth bite down to keep the moan inside, Murphy's coming and the clenching of his arse around Connor's cock is enough to have Connor coming as well. They've only been in the small room for less than fifteen minutes. It's not the fastest they've fucked but considering where they're at and who can walk in at any point, it's been too long. Connor lets go of Murphy's legs and Murphy shifts so that Connor's cock slips free.
Rapping his head against the thin paneling again, Murphy's pulling up his jeans. Connor's yanking up his own and when their heads impact, it's almost expected. The pain doesn't really matter. They've just finished fastening their boots and belts when there's a knock on the door.
"Is there someone in there?" Comes the voice of the priest and they both exchange looks and grins split their faces.
"Aye, Father, I'm wanting to Confess," Connor says in response and Murphy sinks to the floor, hidden from sight. The sound of the priest's door opening and shutting sounds loud and Connor's hoping that his breath is controlled enough to get through this.
He goes through the ritual, asking for forgiveness for a few sins that he hadn't wanted to confess to before and the priest lectures and absolves. His penance is assigned and Connor thanks the priest before concluding.
The penance isn't going to mean anything. It hasn't before and Connor's not expecting it to mean a thing this time either. What means something is the grin on Murphy's face and the feeling of completion he feels when Murphy grabs his hand and winds their fingers together. Connor gets up as the priest's window into the room closes and they both slip out of the Confessional.
They wait until they're outside to laugh and their lips come together naturally on the steps of the church. After they pull apart, they light their cigarettes and make their way towards the motel they're staying at. Their next mark is waiting for justice and, reinvigorated, they'll mete out justice on the morrow.
As always, I'd love to hear what you think
Fandom: Boondock Saints
Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Rating: NC-17
Word Count:
Warnings: Incest, PWPesque
Summary: Connor's wondering about his relationship with God. Murphy's already confessed to his sins.
A/N: It was
ficlette's birthday yesterday and I'm continuing the week of love. Today's post brought to you by the letter 'b'. Self-beta'd.Connor watches as Murphy comes out of the Confessional, eyes downcast and an indiscernible expression on his face. He knows that Murphy was confessing to their killing and he knows that the priest probably didn't believe that they have a calling. He also knows that Murphy will do his penance and then they will both continue on the path the Lord set for them.
They are the Shepherds of the Lord, setting a river forth for Him by culling the wicked from the good. They'd lost count of how many they'd sent to meet their Maker four months ago, when Il Duce had been killed in a trap that Smecker hadn't been able to warn them about. The Feds didn't know jackshit about their father other than his deeds. Their father was cremated like a common criminal and, even now, Connor and Murphy pray for his soul and that the Lord accepts one of his Shepherds back into the flock.
By the time Connor's done blocking the memory of their father's bullet riddled body from his mind, Murphy's kneeling next to him with his rosary out and fingers shifting from bead to bead while his lips are moving with the remembered verbiage of the prayers. It's Connor's turn to enter the Confessional but he decides that he's confessed before and it might have done some good but he's tired of confessing the same sins only to go out and perpetuate them again.
That's where he and his father differed. His father believed that there was no need to confess to the killing of the wicked. They had a calling and God was well aware of what they did in His name. Il Duce had gone to the Lord with a prayer of thanks on his lips while Connor knows that he would meet the Lord with a request for forgiveness on his lips. Il Duce had known, way back in that hotel room after they'd gone public, that Connor didn't have the commitment to the mission like he'd had.
Connor isn't able to go as far as necessary.
It doesn't bother Connor for the most part. He doesn't mind that he questions the veracity of the information they receive from their informants. He also doesn't mind that he questions, daily, if what they're doing is right. That doubt is what separates them from the people they kill, after all.
As Murphy finishes his prayers, Connor slips back onto the hard pew and stares at the large crucifix hanging behind the altar. His mind drifts from topic to topic – their latest target, their last kill, the drip of sweat from his nose as he thrusts into Murphy – while Murphy's head bends further forward and he continues muttering prayers. The topics aren't really fit for the church, especially when he's breaking commandment after cardinal rule after societal rule.
They're the only ones in the church and it's quiet. Before this past year, Connor would've used the word 'peaceful' but now he'll leave it at 'quiet' as he's not sure that he'll ever feel peace again. They've done too much, had too many souls haunting them to be peaceful.
Then there's the shift between Murphy and him. That first kiss had been a dare, a drunken slobbering affair that had left them with too many questions and just one answer – 'this is wrong'. They'd done their best to ignore the kiss, punching each other and avoiding looking when one or the other had been changing. Though, for Connor, it was more that he'd watched out of the corner of his eye. When he'd caught Murph doing the same, they'd met eyes and before Connor had time to think, they'd been kissing. The slide down that slippery slope into more had been all too easy from there.
The shift between them might be sending them to Hell but Connor's prepared his arguments for the other side. Until then, he'll think of it as a gift of peace in the midst of all the killing and the chaos. They deserve it, dammit, they deserve the feel of hands touching bodies and lips pressing against lips.
Murphy mutters 'amen' and then he looks at Connor. Connor thinks that he might just be able to tell what Connor's thinking about because a grin flits across his face and Connor's only ever seen it right before Murphy had wrapped lips around cock. It's as Murphy's raising an eyebrow and opening his mouth to say something blasphemous that the priest leaves the Confessional. Murphy looks from the Confessional to Connor to their crotches before looking at the back to the Confessional. Connor knows what he's suggesting and he shakes his head. When Murphy repeats the looks, Connor mouths 'no'.
Connor's had his own crises of faith before. He's wondered if God hadn't been punishing their gall to be judge, jury and executioner by first killing Rocco and then their da. When he's brought it up in the past, Murph'd slapped him across the head and said, "don't be a fool, Conn, course not. We're doing what he told us, yeah?"
Murph's always had a better relationship with God. He's always been confident in God's ability to forgive. It's this reasoning that Connor uses to justify his acquiescence as Murphy looks again. Third time's the charm, especially considering that Murphy's palming his cock through his jeans as he does it.
Murphy leaves the pew, sliding away without another glance. He looks first one way and then the other before slipping into the Confessional. Connor waits, counting to thirty before crossing himself and then counting to thirty again. One more time crossing himself and then he's out of the pew and heading towards the Confessional. He doesn't look around.
Instead, he slips in and before he can absorb how close, how narrow, how small the room is with two of them in there, Murphy is pressing against him, all lips and teeth and roving hands. It's not a kiss between them, at least, Connor wouldn't use that term. It's a battle for domination as their teeth collide with his lip stuck between them. The pinch only adds to the need and fuels the speed as their hands busy themselves with belts and trousers.
Before Murphy can rip his jeans off his hips, Connor slips one hand into a pocket, searching for the small packet of lube he'd grabbed off the dresser that morning. He hadn't even thought about, it'd been automatic to grab everything off the dresser and slip it into his pocket. Cigarettes, lighter, sixty-eight cents and lube.
He's thankful for habit, especially as he's wanting to sink himself balls deep into Murphy, feel him clenching and hot around him while he's thrusting. His elbow bumps the cheap paneling of the wall while he digs out the lube. It only stands to reason that he'd hit that awkward spot and send jangles of pain along his arm. He curses, this time in German, and Murphy laughs before swallowing it down with his mouth pressed firmly over Connor's.
They're making so much noise that Connor's sure the priest is going to walk back in to his side of the Confessional at any point. Knowing Connor's luck lately, it'll be while he's buried in Murphy and fucking him against the wall. Then again, knowing the state of the Church, the priest might enjoy the show. The thought sets Connor to laughing again and, as Murphy's just gotten his hands on Connor's dick, it's piss poor timing. He figures that he deserves the bite to his tongue and doesn't get too upset about it.
With the lube pack firmly in hand, he finishes taking care of Murphy's jeans and pushes them down. Murph bends, hitting his head on the door while he unfastens a boot and shucks it and the leg of his jeans off. The sight might have had Connor laughing at any other point but Murphy's hands are on his dick again and Connor decides that the bite to the tongue is already more than enough punishment for laughing. Knowing Murphy, he'd bite Connor's dick or something for laughing while he's standing there with his cock thrusting up into the air.
Murphy holds out a hand and Connor squirts some of the lube into his palm before putting the rest into his own hand. The slippery smooth grip makes him buck into Murphy's palm. It's almost as good as Murphy's ass and Connor thinks that Murphy knows it. His fingers are rougher than he'd wanted when he thrusts them up into Murphy's ass. He doesn't really take his time, he's too afraid that the priest will be back considering how many times they've banged against the walls.
Murphy shifts so that he's on the small bench inside the room and then he's sliding down over Connor's cock. He'll deny it later but there's a small mewl coming from Connor's throat as he's engulfed. Pushing Murphy against the back wall – the only one that's sturdy enough to take the abuse that he's about to dispense – Connor picks up Murphy's legs and puts them around his waist.
Then, they're fucking. There's no other word for the rapid thrusting and groaning that they're doing. It's not just sex and it sure as fuck isn't making love. It's carnal and fast and hot. Connor's sure that they can hear the wet slap of flesh against flesh. When Murphy groans, Connor knows that they're about to get caught. There's no way that there isn't a single person in the church that can't hear them.
Lip turning purple and white around where teeth bite down to keep the moan inside, Murphy's coming and the clenching of his arse around Connor's cock is enough to have Connor coming as well. They've only been in the small room for less than fifteen minutes. It's not the fastest they've fucked but considering where they're at and who can walk in at any point, it's been too long. Connor lets go of Murphy's legs and Murphy shifts so that Connor's cock slips free.
Rapping his head against the thin paneling again, Murphy's pulling up his jeans. Connor's yanking up his own and when their heads impact, it's almost expected. The pain doesn't really matter. They've just finished fastening their boots and belts when there's a knock on the door.
"Is there someone in there?" Comes the voice of the priest and they both exchange looks and grins split their faces.
"Aye, Father, I'm wanting to Confess," Connor says in response and Murphy sinks to the floor, hidden from sight. The sound of the priest's door opening and shutting sounds loud and Connor's hoping that his breath is controlled enough to get through this.
He goes through the ritual, asking for forgiveness for a few sins that he hadn't wanted to confess to before and the priest lectures and absolves. His penance is assigned and Connor thanks the priest before concluding.
The penance isn't going to mean anything. It hasn't before and Connor's not expecting it to mean a thing this time either. What means something is the grin on Murphy's face and the feeling of completion he feels when Murphy grabs his hand and winds their fingers together. Connor gets up as the priest's window into the room closes and they both slip out of the Confessional.
They wait until they're outside to laugh and their lips come together naturally on the steps of the church. After they pull apart, they light their cigarettes and make their way towards the motel they're staying at. Their next mark is waiting for justice and, reinvigorated, they'll mete out justice on the morrow.